


stay around for the strangeness

by hissingmiseries



Series: parallel universes [2]
Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grizz Is A Father/Boyfriend/Rebellion Leader, M/M, One Shot, Parenthood, Post-Season/Series 01, Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 13:37:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19006879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hissingmiseries/pseuds/hissingmiseries
Summary: Everybody is gathered around it, cheering. The heat feels like hell; like unrelenting summers on the coast that made his skin blister and peel. "This is how liberty dies," he says, "with thunderous applause."Sam sighs, then—isn't that from Star Wars?"Yeah," Grizz deadpans. "But, y'know. You get the point."(Or: vive la révolution, right? At least, that's what Grizz thought. But then he got a boyfriend and a surrogate daughter and—yeah. This was never part of the plan.)





	stay around for the strangeness

**Author's Note:**

> i barely lasted three days before the last fic HAHAHAHAHA i'm in deep
> 
> takes place soon after the events of _stitched together with good intentions_ ; follows grizz as he attempts to navigate the mess he came home to.
> 
> contains: canon-typical themes (politics, violence, etc), canon relationships. struggles with sexuality, internalised homophobia r.e. staying closeted. the rebellion and all the mess that comes with it. brief references to disordered eating.

 

 

"So," Grizz says.

Sam tilts his head.  _So?_

The church is on fire. Like, actually on fire. There are flames and smoke and Grizz thinks if he steps any closer, his eyebrows will be singed off and he'll look like Gríma from Lord of the Rings or something. He's already got the hair.

Everybody is gathered around it, cheering. The heat feels like hell; like unrelenting summers on the coast that made his skin blister and peel. "This is how liberty dies," he says, "with thunderous applause."

Sam sighs, then—  _isn't that from Star Wars?_

"Yeah," Grizz deadpans. "But, y'know. You get the point."

 

-

 

For as long as Grizz was in the woods, he was a leader. Well, as much of a leader as he could have been, considering the situation: it was pathetic, really. (Mickey reminded him of this on a regular basis, of all the times he fucked up, but Mickey sucks, so whatever.) He would have done anything for that group, still would. He'd cross lava, probably. Lie on a bed of nails. Take a football to the nuts.

He thinks he did a good job. They all got home, didn't they? Nobody died this time. They found a field and set up tents and got stoned, like they were at Woodstock and the sun was rising over the treetops, splashing down onto their faces. Getting home took a bit longer than expected but—that wasn't his fault. He didn't _mean_ to lose that stupid compass.

 

Ever since Sam hugged him and said,  _I need you to come back_  and kissed him like his life depended on it? He was a leader.

Sometimes he thinks, even before they went exploring he was destined for this. He didn't know, but his whole life had arranged itself for that moment: Sam, wide-eyed and shivering, and the world turning around itself, suddenly still for a second, so everything could snap into place.

 

-

 

It's eight a.m. and the house is quiet. Sam's sprawled out along the sofa, hair a mess and some conspicuous dark stain on his shoulder, probably Eden's doing. His eyes are shut and his hands are folded across his stomach, just underneath the little white logo on his hoodie. Well, Grizz's hoodie; not any more, now it smells like baby sick.

Grizz is buzzing. The litre of coffee he just inhaled won't help, but that's not it. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet and he keeps shaking his head, drumming his hands on his legs to give them something to do.

Sam must sense him; he cracks one eye open, starts a little. _Grizz_ , he says, yawning.  _What the hell—_

"I quit The Guard," Grizz says. "I just did it now."

 _Holy shit_ , Sam says, springing up. He's so slight, Sam—a long stretch of a person, not like Grizz, who's broad across the shoulders and was easily the best tackler in every football game he played. It's easy to forget that, though, with the way Sam carries himself: slouching his shoulders, making himself less of a threat.

(Or so Grizz has been told. Personally, he doesn't see it. To him, Sam is the centre of every room, of every world.)

Sam's all coiled up tension from that rude awakening but he's unfurling now, all of him extended so he can grab Grizz and pull him in for a hug, tight and warm. _Oh my god, Grizz,_  he says, quiet.

Grizz thinks about kissing him. Settling his hands either side of his face and just—going for it. But he can't, because the blinds are open and Becca is moving around upstairs and nothing is private anymore in Lexie's world (which is really Campbell's world, but that makes his head hurt to think about, so he doesn't).

 _You need to stay safe,_  Sam says.

He breathes in, breaths out. Lets his hands rest on Sam's sides. "I need to keep you safe. You, Becs and Eden. You're my responsibility now."

Sam smiles at that, quick and gentle. Sunrise falls in through the window and makes him look so young, so carefree.  _I appreciate that_ , he signs. _But you're no good to us if Campbell has you tied up somewhere._

 

"As if he'd tie me up," Grizz smirks. "He's not tall enough."

 _It's not_   _funny_. He frowns, slaps him on the arm but he's smiling anyway and god, Grizz could look at that smile forever. Mona Lisa, who?

 

-

 

The first time Grizz tried to speak to Sam, he was fourteen years old and he offered him a gummy worm and Sam said,  _I don't like red, Grizz, but thanks._

That basically lay the foundations of their relationship and the many failed attempts at communication that would follow. Once Grizz got so irritated he went onto the football pitch and started kicking holes into the grass but then the coach caught him and ripped him a new one, so he had to stop.

 

When Grizz was fourteen he had long, shaggy hair and a gap between his two front teeth. He was the only player who was just as good in defence as offence, which made him everybody's favourite; or unfavourite, as he found out when he was sixteen and people started squaring up to him in the locker room.

He loved football, wholly and immediately. Without reservation.

Sometimes it alarmed him, just how well he fit in with the team. But then he'd go home and drink his orange juice and try not to think about it too much.

 

It sucked, though. It sucked a lot. Because they were all guys—like,  _guys_  guys. They pushed other kids into lockers and stuff. And Grizz wasn't sure what he was but he wasn't like that, but he couldn't screw it up because what was there to fall back on? So he had to be careful and he couldn't push. It's only high school anyway; he could be who he wanted after graduation.

 

His first proper football game was—holy shit. He almost cried through the anthem. Fuck.

It felt amazing, being up. There were so many people in the stadium and they were all cheering for West Ham, for him.

He scored the first goal, too.

It was fun. It was really fucking awesome.

 

-

 

The church burns down because of an  _isolated incident of drunken vandalism_ , according to Lexie. Totally not a symbolic middle finger to Allie, not at all; reducing the site of Dewey's trial, the site of every meeting and congregation to literal ash. Nobody gets arrested for it and Campbell is there again, hands in his pockets, looking so fucking casual. Grizz kind of wants to knock his head off his shoulders.

 

 _It was probably him that set the fire_ , Sam says, over coffee. The old café is honestly a blessing; it took Grizz a while to figure out the fancy barista machine but a few first-degree burns later and he had it down.

"You ought to be careful," Grizz says. "If someone hears you throwing accusations around, it'll be you in that wine cellar."

It's late afternoon, the clouds are settling like dust. The Guard are rolling through the streets in Luke's truck like some sort of army. _This is your fault._

Grizz splutters on his drink. "How is this  _my_  fault?"

 _The Guard had one brain cell between them,_  Sam says, hands moving over the steam. He's laughing, ever so slightly; he hates being away from Eden but sometimes it's necessary, you know? It lets him look at Grizz like this, all humour and nothing bad.  _That was you._

He's not wrong, to be fair. "Yeah, well," he says. The coffee in his mug is a funny colour, perhaps the milk has gone off. "I'm not going back, not in a million years. Not whilst Lexie and Harry are running the place into the ground."

Sam nods.  _It went bad so fast_. He's tried to explain to Grizz exactly what happened: the coup, Allie and Will being dragged in front of a crowd like sacks of junk and Lexie stood on stage in the church, face all screwed up and pinched. Grizz had sat there silently, the epitome of confusion, and said, fucking hell, I've only been gone a few weeks.

"I should have tried to see Allie," Grizz says. "I could have tried to reason with Lexie or something—"

Long pale finger finds his, instantly soothing. Grizz has no idea when Sam started having this effect on him but he's glad of it; the only constant in his life, an always-clear patch of sky. A _llie will be fine. They can't touch her, people would go crazy._

"They went crazy over Dewey, too." He sighs; it's not trauma, per se, but there are nights when he sleeps badly, shallow. Sees Dewey's body in that chair, his head go limp and his screaming stop over and over and over— "That didn't stop us."

 _Hey._  Sam kicks him in the shin.  _That wasn't you._

"I know," he says. "Kinda feels like it was, though."

His coffee has gone cold. Sam notices it, the way the milk has curdled and separated and points at it with his free hand; says,  _you wanna—?_ and Grizz shakes his head, "Not really, no," as he frowns down at what is basically almost cheese forming in his cup. Standards are really slipping around here.

 _You could eat something._  Communal meals are non-existent, now; nobody is going into work anymore.  _There's food in the fridge back at home, or we could go and get some from the canteen—_

Grizz says, "I'm good."

Sam does that annoyingly-fond head tilt thing that makes his eyes look all caring and knowledgable. It's surprisingly effective; that's Sam in a nutshell, actually, surprisingly effective. God forbid anyone who underestimates him—which, if Grizz is anything to go by, is probably everyone. _You're not good, though._

He pulls a face. It's just them, but the windows are big and open: anyone could see in. "I am. I'm just tired."

_If you want to talk, I'm here for you._

That makes Grizz smile; his fingers trace patterns on the back of Sam's hand, discreet enough to be just theirs. "I know," he says. "I know that. Thank you. It means a lot."

 

Grizz goes round to Becca's house a lot, to say hello and stuff. Eden is growing so fast: she has chubby arms and dark hair and she's sitting up by herself, now.

Becca says a lot of things like, "you don't need to help" and "I'm fine, don't worry about it." All of these are blatant lies because Becca is  _great_ , she's an awesome mom and her baby is the best, but Grizz is here a lot and he's not just going to lie on the couch and read books while Becca runs around trying to make dinner and soothe Eden and clean up where she's puked on the carpet. Sam is amazing too—the way he looks at Eden, the way she looks back? It's the shit that poets write about.

Grizz likes Eden a lot, anyway. He could totally help out, even though he doesn't live here.

But he does kind of live here, at least a little bit: he sleeps in Sam's bed and has breakfast with them in the morning, cooks sausages on the hob and drizzles them in honey (delicious, honestly). It just makes sense for him to rock Eden to sleep sometimes so he can sit cross-legged with Sam on the floor, learning new words to sign. Neither of them needs to be exhausted.

(They are both exhausted, but that's okay. Everybody is exhausted in this town.)

 

Grizz was so scared at first, honestly. He was already scared about being part of The Guard; he loves them, he really does, but the idea of being the new military of this place? No thanks. And then suddenly Sam was there, fucking  _Sam_ —the dream Grizz was always scared to pursue, because that was the old world and he saw what happened to kids who were themselves.

And then Eden.

He holds her a lot, nowadays.

Eden is so soft in his arms. Just—something that actually really does matter. More than anything else: more than the coup or Lexie or Campbell. More than getting home, when it comes down to it.

She looked up at him and blinked, one day. She looked so much like her mum that it gave Grizz chills.

"Hey," he said to her. "Hey, kid. I got you."

 

He spends the night there again. Nobody is asking questions yet, but they both know it'll only be a matter of time, so they're enjoying the peace while it lasts.

When he wakes up, Sam's back is against him, hair tickling the front of his neck. The sunlight streams in between the curtains, shattered into fractals by the windchime hanging over the bed; it sends it shooting all over, like a disco ball.

 _Morning_ , Sam says, twisting around. His eyes are bright even with sleep in them.

Grizz runs a hand through his hair, smiles one-sidedly. "Morning."

They lie there for a little while longer: just comfortable, just calm. There are little red marks all along Sam's neck and it makes Grizz smirk to himself, thinking, I did that. It's a nice feeling—it kind of thrills through his stomach and settles there. It isn't fire, isn't passion, but it doesn't have to be: it's their own little thing, and that's more than enough for him. Sam will always be more than enough.

 

-

 

 _it's snowing outside_ , Bean texts him.  _wish you were here :P_

He's working in the canteen today, chopping veg. He's the only one there.

 _showoff_ , he replies.

 

Whilst they were in the woods, Bean asked him, "Do you ever get homesick?" She had her head in her hands, like she did when things were getting a bit too much sometimes. It was dark and they were all smoking pot and watching the stars, Grizz pointing out how the constellations had rearranged themselves into newer, stranger shapes.

Grizz shook his head. "Not now I've got Sam."

They were both really, really tired, really stoned. Bean did Grizz a solid, like how she always does him a solid, and didn't bring it up in the morning.

 

He's stirring a pot of stew when they walk in: The Guard, or what's left of them.

Luke has a beard now, and Jason's hair has sprouted into an unruly afro. But apart from that they still look the same—they're still the same idiots he was best friends with, just a few months ago.

"You need a shave, Luke," Grizz smirks. "Helena must be complaining by now."

He glares at him and says, "You keep hanging around with Sam, all secret, like. What are you whispering about?"

It's not healthy, the way his stomach bottoms out. Grizz has never been a good actor but he tries to school his face into something that passes for ambivalence. "None of your business."

Clark thinks that's pretty harsh for somebody who just walked out a few days ago, threw him his jacket like it was a fucking torn rag or something, like it meant nothing. "Is it about Lexie?"

"Jesus." Grizz rolls his eyes. "Is her ego really that big?"

Luke pauses and squints at him; he's somebody else who New Ham has corrupted, moulded into someone who he really wasn't before. "You're in Allie's camp," he says. "It's no secret." Then he crosses his arms and shuffles his feet; looks at the floor. "New orders from high up: no more congregating in groups, especially in public. Any suspicious activity will result in your arrest."

Grizz kind of can't believe what he's hearing. "Right," he blinks. "You do realise that directly violates the constitution—first amendment, right to assembly?" His eyes dart from face to face. "The same constitution you were all spouting when you wanted to keep those guns after Cassandra died—"

Clark raises both eyebrows. "It's different now, and you know it."

"Is it?"

"There are more divisions than before," Luke says, swallowing hard. Grizz feels rough all of a sudden, this cool wave of nausea that makes his chest go all tight. "Lexie and Harry don't want—"

"You mean Campbell doesn't want." The mention of that name shuts everyone up; it makes the same stony look cross everybody's faces. Christ. Grizz hasn't known Campbell that long but Sam is a vivid storyteller late at night and some of the stuff he's heard— "I mean, let's be honest, he's the one running the ship at the minute, right?"

Jason says, "Lexie and Harry don't want any sort of backchat being encouraged. We've got it bad enough with people refusing to accept that they're in charge now, the last thing they need is people taking it to the next level."

The stew starts to boil. Grizz pokes at it with a wooden spoon, popping air bubbles. "Oh, so they're banning protests too," he jeers. "And you all called Allie the dictator."

"Allie tried to rig the election," Clark says, pointedly.

Grizz's eyes are—furious. Like, actually furious. "Did she, though?"

" _Yes_ ," Luke says through gritted teeth.

"Fuck you, man." He turns the stove off, covers the pot with a lid so it doesn't go cold. There isn't enough to feed the whole town, not by a long shot, but people are getting used to going without dinner now. "Campbell's got his hand so far up your ass, you're a puppet."

Luke takes a step forward; he's not as tall as Grizz but his jaw is tight and veins are popping out on his neck, his forehead. "Or we're just trying to keep ourselves safe."

"Then you're complicit in all this." He spits the words and sees every one of them land, like rocks in a pond. "And that makes you a coward."

The rest of The Guard move, then. On their own they aren't as intimidating but then they unite, one big cluster of meatheads and it makes Grizz realise, fuck, he must have scared the living shit out of people when he was part of them. That post-dawn raid looking for Dewey? That's the type of shit that puts people in therapy.

"You're up to something with Sam," Clark says. He sounds sure. "And we're going to find out what it is."

Grizz sends up a silent prayer: says,  _please don't._  Says, _leave him out of this_. "You keep your hands off Sam. If you've got an issue, you deal with it with me."

"Oh, we will."

"Is that a threat?" He raises an eyebrow, prods the sleeping lion. Just to see, y'know?

They funnel out then, out into the snow. "A promise," Jason says, as he leaves.

 

-

 

He really wanted to go to university. He was going to study classics or history or something: a subject which would let him read. Numbers have never been his strong point but words? Oh, man. Words are everything. There's always something to describe anything, that's the beauty of words; no matter what you're feeling, somebody somewhere will have written it down. Grizz kind of loves that. About how when he was fourteen, and he sat behind the ginger kid in his physics class and something in his heart went  _oh_ —there was always words.

That's why, when Sam gave him that book, he started crying like a fucking baby.

 

He still reads it, sometimes. Scratch that: all the time. It's very apropos—a man goes and lives in solitude in a cabin in the woods for two years. That made him smile.

There are some stunning passages in it. The one he read to everybody when they were stoned is nice and all, but a few days later they stopped for the night and he started reading again, using the moon as a lamp and—

_I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavours to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours._

It was highlighted in bright yellow. Grizz dreamt that night, for the first time on the whole trip: of Sam, all liquidy and unreal. Close enough to touch, then gone again.

 

-

 

It really is snowing. Just—gentle little flakes, floating down like waltzers.

West Ham was honestly really pretty when it snowed: it was serene and quiet and beautiful, all the picture-perfect buildings topped like icing and the trees, crystalline against grey skies. There were kids having snowball fights and snowmen guarding front lawns and the air didn't smell like smog.

But Old Ham looks cold, and sterile. Trash is piling up and it looks like a fox has been rummaging through the torn bin bags, contents spilt out onto the road. It fucking stinks.

 

It's nice to see a change, though. Nice to get to go back to their house—his and Sam's and Becca's, because let's be honest, it is theirs at this point—and pull another jacket on and curl up on the couch. 

There's snow in his hair, on his fingers. When he breathes out, there's a little puff of white steam.

It's weird. His body doesn't know what to do with it. He loves summer.

Not as much as he loves Sam, though.

 

He practises saying the words:  _I love you. I'm in love you with. I really like you._

They stall out, on his tongue. They stall out every time.

 

"Yo," Gordie says, outside the house. He's on his way to the med centre: he and Kelly are studying at like, bachelor's level now. "I saw The Guard go into the kitchen earlier. Are you alright?"

"I don't know," Grizz sighs. His head tilts back, up to the sky; the clouds are huge and grey and ominous, heavy with snow. "I think I'm on their hit list."

Gordie hums, under his breath. "That doesn't sound good."

"Nothing ever does around here," he says.

"Ah, you can't say that, man." The wind is picking up, so Gordie pulls his hood up and buries his hands into the pockets of his too-big coat. "I heard Eden laugh the other day. That was pretty special."

 

Speaking of Eden, she's all supple and grabby in Becca's arms when he walks in.

"It's snowing," he smiles. Eden reaches out to him with a pudgy arm and this daft grin, and those dark, dark eyes that Grizz can't place. They aren't Sam's, and they aren't really Becca's either: they're too deep, too old. She's gonna be a smart kid, he can already tell.

Becca isn't as cheerful. "Great," she sighs. "That means it's gonna get cold, and we haven't got any heating in this house. And Eden's room is the coldest, I mean, there's a constant draft."

The storeroom which Sam converted into Eden's nursery—he did a damn good job, too, painted it pink and everything—is up by Sam and Becca's room (now Sam and Grizz's room, with Becca taking the spare), and Grizz can feel the way the cold creeps in from across the corridor, even in the summer months. It'll be far too cold for her in there come winter, even with thick blankets and that cute fluffy onesie Sam found in the supermarket a few weeks ago.

Grizz says, "Put her in with us."

She blinks at him. "You won't get any sleep," she argues. "She's been fussy lately, she's teething."

"All the more reason for you to get a full night," he counters.

There's that maternal hardness to her eyes, all protective and territorial; Grizz understands, of course he does. Eden is like, the one pure thing left in New Ham. It makes sense that Becca wants to wrap her in cotton wool and hold her close.

Then— "Are you sure?"

Grizz nods, this definitive curve to his jaw that he thinks convinces her more than anything. "Positive. I'll go and move her cot."

 

-

 

The day he sends out that group text is probably when it starts.

All the people he still trusts; everybody who is still Team Allie, which is a devastatingly-small number, he realises when he's scrolling through his contacts list, adding names. It's short and punchy, straight to the point:  _sam and becca's house, 8am._

Everybody turns up. Grizz cooks everybody breakfast because that's the least he can do when he's called them all out here so early—eggs and toast and coffee. They all sit together around the tiny kitchen table; it could be larger, they could certainly build a new one, but Becca likes this house, this little space. It's neat and compact and everything fits together. It's not safe, nowhere is  _safe_  anymore; but sometimes at night she can almost pretend.

"Everyone hungry?" he asks, belatedly. He's wearing Sam's t-shirt, it's soft and smells like him. Whether people notice or not, it's not the biggest issue right now.

Sam is in yesterday's trousers; he furrows his eyebrows.  _Are you going to eat too?_

"Nah, I'm—this is for you guys." He's a pretty good cook, better than Sam at least. Sam still manages to burn toast.

Becca grabs some plates, dishes them out whilst the toaster systematically spits out bread, golden brown. Grizz brings everything over to the table and hands out cutlery and sits down, looking around uneasily. These types of conversations are always easier over food, right?

Thankfully, people eat. Sam looks worried and picks at it a bit, concentrating more on Grizz than his meal but then Eden starts gurgling in her high-chair and he's over there with her baby spoon, playing airplane with a heap of mushy scrambled eggs.

Gordie clears his throat. "You know what we're doing now is technically illegal," he says. "New rules."

"Yeah, I know," Grizz nods. "Which is—absurd."

Kelly says, "It's all Campbell." Her hair is tied back, up in a bun, and she's in medical scrubs. "Every time I try to go and talk to Harry or Lexie, The Guard turn me away at the door. They're trying to stop another takeover from happening."

"They're obviously getting scared," Becca says. Her hands move fluently for Sam's benefit. "They must know their power is slipping."

Grizz shrugs. "They seem to have both too much power and too little. It's this weird grey zone they can't get out of."

Gordie takes a slurp of his coffee, runs a hand through his hair. "It's so sh— crap," he says, casting a glance at Eden who is beaming happily in her high-chair, oil smeared across her lips, making her all shiny.

"Exactly," Grizz nods. "So we just, we need to figure out what the next steps are."

All the faces turn to look at him, several pairs of sleep-deprived eyes laden with purple bags and the odd bruise here and there, from where The Guard have gotten a bit too wild. All the light turns, to him. Fuck. Is this what Allie felt like when she did this sort of thing? Cause fuck that.

Bean blinks. "Next steps."

"Yeah," he says. Some sort of stunned silence echoes across the table. Everybody looks far away, distant. "What?"

Kelly asks, "What do you mean, next steps?"

Grizz frowns, at each of them individually. "I just— we missed a lot, didn't we, in the woods." He gestures at Bean and Mickey. "Like, something big obviously happened. People have tried explaining it to me but to be honest, I still don't understand how Lexie and Harry can just march in like that and throw Allie and Will aside like they're nothing. They must have something on The Guard—although, to be honest, I wouldn't put it past those morons." He takes a deep breath, looks down at his empty space on the table. "They were talking crap about Allie before I left, saying she had too much power and stuff. I told them they were being idiots but everything goes in one ear and out the other with those guys."

Sam pipes up.  _Campbell must have been telling them stuff. Long before any of this started happening._  The words are Becca's—Sam's lips move silently, eyes focused on his translator.

"He's just played on their fears," Gordie says. "Classic manipulation tactics. They're literally the military in this town but somehow they ended up thinking they have less power than all of us."

"They wanted a say in things," Grizz shrugs. "I get it, but—not like this."

Gwen is sat directly opposite him, taking gentle little bites from her toast. She stopped sleeping in the same bed as Clark a long-ass time ago. "Clark talks a lot about Allie and Will," she offers, tentative. She speaks like she's traversing a minefield and the wrong word will just boom. "He talks about them like he hates them. Like, actually hates them. I think he's doing shit to Will, like he did to Dewey." Something sick ripples through everybody: Dewey deserved it, sure, but not Will. Will with his light smile and amazing hair and heart that's so big, it has room for everybody. "Sometimes he says things, and— ugh. He's not the guy I remember."

"I'm still lost by what you mean by  _next steps_ ," Bean points out. Her eyebrows are raised, expectant.

"Yeah, about that." Suddenly Grizz is completely, one-thousand-percent aware why Allie didn't want this job. Maybe he's not the leader he thought he was—on the trails, maybe, but now people are looking at him: they have questions in their eyes and even in the soft light of the morning, they might just be starting to hang on to his every word. "Erm. I've been thinking, and—things cannot stay like this. Like, not at all."

Mickey rolls his eyes. "Yeah, no shit."

"Language," Becca says.

"I mean, just think. If we are stuck here for the rest of our lives **—** "

Kelly sighs. "Cheerful, Grizz. Lovely topic for a Monday morning."

His voice gets a little louder, a little firmer. "It's a possibility, Kell, we've got to be honest. And if we  _are_  stuck here, is this the kind of world we want to live in?" He looks over at Eden: she's so  _young_. So clueless. "You guys have got a kid, y'know? She doesn't deserve to grow up in this dump."

"So," Becca says, "what do you propose we do, then?"

Grizz takes a deep breath—he's spent a few nights awake, formulating this answer—and says, "This is going to sound crazy."

 

There is a knock on the door, when they're done with the eggs.

Grizz says, "Becs, are you expecting someone?" and she shakes her head, worried. Sam moves towards Eden as if pulled by a magnet.

"Get the door," she says, backing away. Her, Sam and Eden in the corner: close, shivering a little.

Grizz shivers too, becomes hyperaware of his shirt. They're friends; it's not unusual for them to stay at each other's houses. It  _is_  unusual for them to be in each other's clothes, sporting each other's fingerprints on their sides and their shoulders. He swallows the lump in his throat before one-handedly opening the door.

Luke, of all people, frowns back at him. "You're a fucking  _idiot_ ," he says. "And you've got a shit-ton of hickeys."

It takes a few seconds for people to notice the difference: at first he is just Luke, all big and stocky and all-consuming, and everybody seizes up out of sheer fucking fear. But then—wait. He looks strange in this light. That power-hungry shine has gone from his eyes; to be honest, Grizz isn't sure it was ever there in the first place.

And he's not wearing his jacket.

"Christ, Luke," Grizz grumbles. "You nearly gave me a heart attack, I thought you were Campbell. Where's your jacket?"

"You all need to clear out," Luke says, sidestepping Grizz and making his way over to the table. He's so much taller than everybody else, they're all looking up at him the way you look at tornadoes or tsunamis, huge and unstoppable. "This is dangerous, what you're doing."

"Coffee?" Grizz asks, adjusting his collar. "Eggs?"

The table glares at them, between them. Luke looks back and raises an eyebrow.

"Beer?" he tries.

"I would very much like a beer," Luke replies, acerbic, "but unfortunately, this is the type of situation where I'm gonna need to stay sober." Then he pulls out a chair with a loud squeal and sits down with such an energy, Grizz is surprised the windows don't rattle.

Gordie is the first to break the silence. "Well," he says, carefully, "have you done something, or—?"

Luke's eyes look—fuck. They're  _flashing_. It's a level of emotion Grizz has never seen from him before; he's seen him all sappy and doe-eyed over Helena, picking out engagement rings but this is something else, something primal. "Not yet," he snaps. "I'm a hair away from telling Campbell to go fuck himself personally, though. Every time I see the prick, I just wanna wring his  _neck_."

Sam scoffs. _Join the line._

"Can we stop swearing in front of Eden, please?" Becca asks, exasperated.

Grizz sits down then, with a mug of coffee. He extends his hand across the table and places it in front of Luke: a peace offering, if you will. "It's okay," he says, painfully calm. "I have a plan." The front bit of his hair is pulled up, back in a ponytail. Sam keeps shooting him little flickering looks which means he must look like absolute shit.

"It had better be a good fu— good plan."

"It's a terrible plan," Grizz shrugs. His smile is so far from real. "But it's all we've got."

"Elaborate," Luke says, clipped and short.

Bean's voice is just as sharp as his when she cuts in, sharp. "What the,  _no_." She stands up and everybody rears back, a perfect transfer of balance. "You can't just come in off the street and say you've switched sides. How are we supposed to know Campbell's not stood outside, listening to every word?"

It's a valid point. Luke jabs a thumb at the door, "You can go and check if you want."

Gordie laughs; it's a hoarse bark, no mirth. "Yeah right," he says, "you really will need a beer to get through that."

"Campbell doesn't know I'm here." His tone is steady, serious. It makes a weird and welcome change from the Luke's he's been for the past few days, all coiled up and stuttery, cowering beneath Lexie's command. "And I'd appreciate it if he didn't find out. For all of our sakes."

Bean shrugs. Grizz can tell she isn't convinced when she says, "Oh well. It's worth it if it turns out you're double-crossing us." Then she turns to Grizz, and says, "You clearly trust him."

He thinks about it, for a moment. Is trust the right word? "I don't trust him," he eventually decides on, treading carefully. "I know him. Better than anyone else here, to be truthful. At least I thought I did—" His gaze returns to Luke, settles on his face and the stressed-out line of his shoulders. "—until you folded like fricking paper as soon as Lexie raised her voice."

Luke cocks his head, as poised and attentive as a question. "You're telling me you wouldn't have done the same," he says, "if you were there when it all went down?"

And Grizz kind of, stops. His throat closes up and suddenly he feels like he's Ant-Man and he's just hit the button on his suit by accident, shrunk down to nothing but a speck. "Okay," he mumbles. "Point taken."

 

-

 

The house empties out. Through the back door, obviously, and one by one.

Grizz asks Luke to stay behind and Sam bristles, doesn't care about the company when he walks up to Grizz and splays a hand across his stomach and signs,  _are you going to be okay?_  with the other. Grizz nods; he signs  _yes_  with his fist and makes his eyes as solid and as sure as he can, which isn't difficult. Nothing is difficult, when it comes to Sam.

 

Luke watches, silent. When Sam's gone he asks, "So how long's that been going on?"

"How long has  _what_ ," Grizz shoots back, arms crossed.

"Oh, come on man," he chuckles. "You've never looked at  _me_  like that."

Grizz feels his eyes go wide before he can stop them: rabbit in the headlights, terrified deer. Then he coughs and regains his composure and says, "Be honest with me, Luke. It's just you and me, okay, Campbell isn't here to hold a gun to your head, or whatever the fuck he's done."

Luke's smile weakens.

"Are you actually on our side," he continues, "or have you got another motive?"

He thinks about it, for a moment. "I looked right at Helena the night we arrested Allie and Will, and lied. I lied to her face. That's—not me, man. If we were back home, I never would have done that to her, but. I don't know." The sun is high now, dousing the room in yellow light that bounces off metal and blinds them both, slightly. Winter sun: all shine and no heat. "I don't have a dog in this fight, man. If we fail then I lose everything."

Grizz contemplates this. Everything is silent, just for a minute, before: "Still got to check you for a wire. Sorry, bud."

"For fuck's sake," Luke groans, but he still lifts up his shirt and turns out his pockets, like a good sport. "Maybe I didn't want to see  _you_  after graduation either, you  _asshole_."

 

-

 

Luke stays for a while. Grizz says, _what about guard duty_  and he just shrugs and says,  _they won't even notice I'm gone_.

 

"You know," Luke says, "you could have told us that you're into guys."

Grizz blinks. "That obvious, huh?"

"No, not really." They're in the kitchen, leaning against different counters respectively; for once, the air is nice and light and the snow is falling again. "I didn't even notice it until now."

Luke looks kind, for once. Genuine. Grizz bites his lip, eyes wide. "I guess I just—didn't want the questions.

"I promise," Luke says, "I won't say anything. Not to anyone."

Grizz peers at him; The Guard are a unit, they tell each other  _everything_ , no matter how gross the details. "Yeah?"

"C'mon, I'm not a complete douchebag."

That makes Grizz laugh, duck his head and examine the floor. "Okay," he nods. "Thank you."

"You love him?" Luke asks.

"I—" Grizz says, mouth opening and closing like a fish. That's as good as a  _yes_. Luke sighs and smiles at him and goes, "I'm happy for you, man. It's about time we had something good happen around here." But then his brow furrows and the look that crosses his face is the same one as when you're trying to figure out some abstract artwork. "You're sleeping with Campbell's brother."

Grizz nods. "Yeah."

"Campbell's brother, who has just had a baby."

"Yes."

"Oh man," he sighs. His eyes are pools of both amusement and deep, driven concern. "Of all the people."

 

-

 

"You know," Grizz began, one morning. His voice was thick with sleep, eyes barely open. "When I'm with you, I'm absolutely fine."

Sam was curled into him like a cat; he thinks, this was perhaps the comfiest he's ever felt in his entire life.  _Fine_?

"Yeah. Completely." The window was open, there were birds swooping around and singing and honestly, Grizz's arm was going numb from Sam sleeping on it but he wasn't about to complain. "I don't—I don't care, and I don't even think about it. I'm not embarrassed, or ashamed. I don't want to be straight—not anymore. I'm just happy."

_But?_

It felt weird, this intimacy. They've done this whole routine before: pillow talk late at night, morning how are yous and what did you dream aboutbut— "But when I go outside—like, just to Gordie's, or to the cafeteria or to work—it kind of feels like the world's on my shoulders. It feels exactly like that." A pause, a swallow. "It just pisses me off. It makes me so angry, y'know? That I feel like that, because it's so pathetic. I look at you, and you're so proud and you can do it, and you're amazing. I just—don't understand why I can't."

Sam kissed him then. Small and pointed, on his forehead.  _I'm guessing you never came out to your parents._

"I didn't need to with my mom," he said. Tap dancing, feather boa. That photo he kind of desperately wants to find, so he can see Sam's face light up with laughter. "My dad, though, I don't know. I don't think he ever figured it out."

(He doesn't think about his parents very much, not anymore. Or at least, he tries not to.)

 _Do you think,_  Sam began; his fingers traced circles on Grizz's chest, lazy little doodles,  _you would tell them, if you could?_

It was a big question, loaded. Grizz tipped his head back and said, "No, not really."

_Why not?_

"Because," Grizz said, "I don't know how they'd react. All I know is that they'd look at me differently and that just, freaks me out a bit."

Sam considered this, a dip appearing between his eyebrows. He signed along half-heartedly, voice quiet and mousey so Grizz had to focus on the curve of his lips, always an added bonus.  _Why don't I pretend to be your dad_ —Grizz let out a chuckle, startled— _and you can come out to me._

"That is so weird." It was hard to ignore the fact that they'd spent the whole night before all over each other: Sam trailing kisses down Grizz's neck, hands pinned above his head. They'd found their routine by then, knew which areas to kiss and which to touch to make each other unravel like ribbon on the sheets.

Sam smiled, bashful.  _No it isn't. Just try._

Everything was so fucking quiet. The air was holding its breath, listening. Grizz could hear his own heartbeat thudding away against his ribcage like a drum, slow and steady and soothing. "Okay, okay." He took a breath and said, "Dad, I've got something that I need to tell you."

 _What's up_ , Sam said.

Another deep breath—it hurt, the burn of it. "I'm gay. I—I like guys, not girls."

Sam's a good actor, he found out that morning. His face crumpled and the look of  _oh_  that crossed his eyes was so perfect, Grizz realised that Sam has probably been seeing that look for most of his life.  _Well_.

Grizz swallowed. "I know."

 _Then, you know what, Grizz—or Gareth, if he called you that?_  He looked so soft, all long limbs and kiss-bitten lips.  _It doesn't matter to me. I love you just the same. And guess what?_

Grizz blinked; there were tears in his eyes, snaking down his cheeks. "What?" His voice sounded impossibly small.

 _I couldn't be more proud of you_ , Sam smiled,  _than if you were the first man on the moon._

 

-

**Author's Note:**

> the last scene is very brazenly borrowed from the film _weekend_ , which is an absolute masterpiece.
> 
> come and say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bartonholla) and [tumblr](https://turnerkanes.tumblr.com)!


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